The Dark Lord's Secret Love
by CinnamonGold
Summary: Updates: 2, 3, 4, and 5. Chapter 10 coming soon. “'You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore' 'We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,' Dumbledore said calmly. What are those ways, and what does candy have to do with anything?
1. In the Ministry

**The Dark Lord's Secret Love**

Chapter One: In the Ministry 

Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, was angry. His Death Eaters had spoiled another of his evil plots. They had let the Potter brat smash the prophecy he'd so desperately needed. To try to salvage his latest scheme he'd actually had to apparate into the Ministry of Magic, risking exposure of his return to all of wizarding Britain. As he cast the _Avada Kedavra_ curse to try to finish off his fifteen-year-old nemesis once and for all, a statue leapt between the curse and the teenager, alerting him to an all-too-familiar presence.

"What---?" said Voldemort, staring around. And then he breathed, "Dumbledore!"

Voldemort raised his wand and sent another jet of green light at Dumbledore, who turned and was gone in a whirling of his cloak; next second he had reappeared behind Voldemort.

The Dark Lord felt a weight on one side of his cloak, but ignored it. When one was dueling one's worst enemy, or anybody else for that matter, it was not uncommon for clothing to get snagged on random objects. If his robes were torn, he would just have to repair them later.

"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom," said Dumbledore calmly. "The aurors are on their way-"

"By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!" spat Voldemort. He sent another killing curse at Dumbledore but missed, instead hitting the security guard's desk, which burst into flame. Who did this muggle-loving old fool think he was?

Dumbledore flicked his own wand. Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect the spell. The spell, whatever it was, caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gonglike note reverberated from it, an oddly chilling sound…

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. "Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk toward Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. "Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit."

As ominous as this proclamation sounded to the Dark Lord, he continued to fight. The struggle persisted, curses flying. Voldemort tried nearly every trick in his repertoire, his rage at his former professor apparent in every flick of his wand. All of his spells and curses were of no use; Dumbledore was amazingly agile for a man of such an advanced age.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord had an epiphany. He would possess the Potter boy! Preparing to enter the very body of his nemesis, Lord Voldemort drew a deep breath, to steady his jangling nerves. Then, with his mind, he took control of the young Gryffindor's consciousness.

The boy was in agony, and Voldemort reveled in the child's pain. He knew he had that muggle-loving fool Dumbledore at a disadvantage, so he decided to use the leverage it afforded him. Dumbledore would never willingly harm the precious Harry Potter, victor over the Dark Lord.

"Kill me now, Dumbledore," taunted Lord Voldemort gleefully, using Harry Potter's mouth to form the words. "If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…"

The Dark Lord could tell that the boy was giving in to death. Lord Voldemort had always known that Harry Potter was weak. The boy's little bit of luck could never compare with his own sheer power. The boy would not be able to stand the pain much longer. Soon, he would be with his precious godfather…

As the Dark Lord's thought drifted into the boy's consciousness, his chest constricted. The air was forced out of his lung, his throat closed painfully, and his eyes watered as he felt a wave of emotion well up in the boy he possessed. He had to get out of there! It was pain beyond all pain, even worse than that he had felt on that fateful night when he had first tried to kill Harry Potter.

Lord Voldemort fled the boy's body. Free from the anguish that was Harry Potter's mind, the Dark Lord disapparated to his humble evil lair.


	2. The Dark Lord's Home

Chapter Two: The Dark Lord's Home 

Lord Voldemort appeared in his lair with an almost inaudible _pop_. He was emotionally exhausted from his run-in with his former Transfiguration professor, and ashamed at his Death Eaters' performances against a bunch of schoolchildren. To be perfectly honest, he was also a little ashamed of his own failure to kill Dumbledore. All of the participating Death Eaters would be punished for their inadequacy, just as soon as he could think up a good diabolical plan. He would leave them in Azkaban for the time being, since they had proved to be useless anyway.

Perhaps he would call the rest of his Death Eaters to his side, or maybe just Bella and Wormtail. He might have saved Bellatrix from being recaptured and sent back to prison (or given the Dementor's Kiss), but he was still disappointed in her dismal work in the Department of Mysteries, her murder of her idiotic cousin not withstanding. She really should pay for her failure. And Wormtail always deserved a reminder of whom he answered to, of course. Casting the _Cruciatus_ a few times would undoubtedly elevate the Dark Lord's dismal mood.

Voldemort shrugged out of his cloak. He tossed it over his throne-like armchair on his way to the kitchen, to get a nice cold Butterbeer. As it draped over the back of the chair, the cloak made a distinct crinkling noise. As thick black velvet is not usually prone to making crinkling sounds, this peaked the Dark Lord's interest. He turned back from his mission to quench his thirst to investigate. Carefully, with an almost paranoid air, Voldemort slid his hand into the strangely lumpy left pocket of his cloak. Instead of finding a couple of knuts or sickles, as he expected, the Dark Lord's hand encountered something that felt like a bag. A muggle plastic bag, to be exact. Feeling the beginnings of suspicion, Voldemort removed the item from his cloak pocket. It was indeed a muggle plastic bag, sullying the Dark Lord's beautiful cloak with its dirty origins.

It was candy. The red paper label spelled out "Lemon Drops" in yellow lettering, and small misshapen yellow orbs were visible through the transparent lower part of the packaging.

Where on Earth could this bag of muggle sweets have come from? "Dumbledore! He could have slipped them in my cloak pocket while we were dueling!" thought Voldemort.

The Dark Lord immediately dropped the bag. Holding his hand as far from his face as possible, he pointed his wand at it, yelling "_Scourgify!_" Although not quite satisfied that the muggle diseases that were undoubtedly on the package were counteracted, he decided that the charm would have to do for the moment. He then stepped back from the sinister bag of candy, wand pointed at it unwaveringly. "_Lumos_!" he commanded, lighting the tip of his wand. Then Lord Voldemort did something very uncharacteristic. He kneeled on the ground. Without touching the offending object, the Dark Lord examined it closely in the wand light. It appeared that the strange shapes were supposed to be reminiscent of lemons. The little sweets sparkled oddly.

Finally satisfied that he could gain no more knowledge from the outward appearance of these "Lemon Drops", the Dark Lord stood up. He backed away from the seemingly innocuous bag of candy, with his wand pointed at it unwaveringly. As soon as he felt that he was at a safe distance, he began casting spells. He searched for enchantments, hexes, curses, and potions. Each time, the result was the same: negative.

"There has to be _some_ kind of jinx on these!" he thought, desperately. "If Dumbledore slipped them to me, he must have had some nefarious purpose!" Still unaware of what that spell could be, Voldemort began casting every countercurse he could recall. Jets of light, and thousands of different colored sparks hit the little plastic bag.

Then, it exploded.

When the Dark Lord recovered his vision, twenty seconds later, all that was left of the bag of sweets was a shriveled, smoking mess. Voldemort waved his wand at the remains, and it disappeared.

"That's that, I guess," he thought. "Now I must go check myself for muggle diseases and such. I did touch that thing, if only for a few seconds." Voldemort turned around, to head to his bathroom. As he did, his eye caught a flash of yellow in the entirely black room.

One Lemon Drop had survived.

Unsure of what to do with the sweet, Lord Voldemort threw away his caution. He bent over, and picked up the sweet. It certainly _looked_ harmless enough. It was even appealing, in a way. The Dark Lord had never really had many sweets before. His childhood in the orphanage had been entirely devoid of good-tasting treats, and later in life he had assumed that one didn't gain status in the world of evil by eating candy. Maybe once, just this once, he should taste something sweet and sugary.

Holding the Lemon Drop in front of him, he cast a quick disinfecting charm. One can never be too careful of those insidious muggle diseases! He then brought the candy toward his lipless mouth, and set it on his tongue.


	3. A Mission: Interlude

**Chapter Three: A Mission (interlude)**

Albus Dumbledore, esteemed and extremely ancient headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat behind his desk waiting. His blue eyes twinkled as they gazed upon a pile of sweets that were lying on his desk. A knock sounded at the door, and the twinkling in the headmaster's eyes intensified.

"Come in, Severus," he said serenely.

The door opened swiftly. A relatively young man, dressed all in black stalked into the room. Even the man's decidedly oily hair and penetrating eyes were black. The only non-black thing about the man was his sallow, yellowish skin. Apparently black clothes just did not suit him, but Severus Snape didn't seem to care in the least.

"Good afternoon, Albus," answered Snape. "What was it you wanted to see me about?" he questioned, getting to the point very quickly and somewhat impatiently, as he had quite a lot to do before leaving Hogwarts for his small house, where he lived during the summer. Plus, he had little patience for Albus Dumbledore's eccentricities, and he had an inkling that the headmaster often purposely tried to annoy him.

"Ah, yes, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I sent for you because I need your help in a certain sensitive matter. I have a mission for you, a mission of the utmost importance. It is a mission of extreme danger, and you will need to rely on all of the cunning you possess to accomplish this task."

Severus sighed inwardly. He was used to the headmaster's penchant for mystery, but it still irritated him. He silently reminded himself that he owed his job to this man, whether it was the job he actually wanted or not. Snape made no secret of the fact that he wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts rather than Potions, but after fifteen years of asking for the position, he assumed that Albus would never let him have it.

"Whatever the mission is, I will perform it, Headmaster, but you'll have to give me more information," Snape said waspishly.

"Ah, yes," remarked Dumbledore. "I will tell you the details of your mission, Severus. Please sit down first. Would you like a Lemon Drop? They're quite delicious, and have always made me feel calmer. You are looking a bit tense. Perhaps you would feel better if you tried one."

Snape eyed the yellow candy warily. In his nearly sixteen years as a professor at Hogwarts and the seven years he spent as a student, Severus had never once accepted a Lemon Drop from Dumbledore. He had been offered one nearly every day since becoming the school's potions master. He was not about to break his refusal record today.

"No, Albus, I'd rather not," he answered. "Let's just get down to business, please."

"Alright, Severus, as you wish," said Dumbledore. "I am about to make an unusual request of you. I need you to do as I ask when you are next summoned to the Dark Lord's side. Please take these bags of sweets on my desk," he indicated a very large bag, brimming over with packages of Lemon Drops, "and place them within the Dark Lord's eyesight. I must ask that you make the placement of the packages look natural. Do not let him see you put them down."

"Sweets? That's this important and dangerous mission? Placing bags of sweets where the Dark Lord can see them?" Snape sincerely believed that the rumors of the past year were true, and Dumbledore had finally gone completely mad.

"Yes, that is your mission, Severus. Place the sweets where you believe they will catch Voldemort's eye," said Dumbledore. Severus cringed at the sound of the name, but did not comment on its use.

"You want me to make sure the Dark Lord sees muggle sweets?" asked a very confused and cantankerous Snape. "That's the mission?"

"Why do you keep asking that same question, Severus?" queried Dumbledore. "All I ask is that you place the sweets where Voldemort is likely to spot them and mistake them for a natural part of the surroundings."

"I'm asking because this hardly seems like an important and dangerous mission, Albus!" said Snape. "I've never been asked to work with sweets before, after all! I assumed that you were asking me to risk my life again, as you usually do."

"Please, Severus, do not underestimate the importance or the danger of this mission," cautioned Dumbledore. "It is necessary to the Order's effort in this war we are entering. These simple Lemon Drops may hold the key to defeating Lord Voldemort for good. Please, take the sweets, and do as I ask."

"I shall, Headmaster," consented a still bewildered Snape.

"Excellent, Severus!" Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "I thank you. Now, I wish to discuss your application for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. I am inclined to offer you the position this year, if Horace Slughorn consents to taking up his old job of Potions Master. I am entirely running out of options, which is understandable after having to hire a new professor each year for more than twenty years."

"What?" asked Snape, completely nonplussed. He had given up all hope of teaching his preferred subject, assuming that Dumbledore saw the Dark Arts as too much of a temptation to him.

"If Horace Slughorn will take up your position, you may have the job you have continually applied for during your employment at this school," Dumbledore repeated slowly, as if Snape were a slightly dim student.

"Erm, thank you, Headmaster," Snape stuttered. "I should be very happy to have that position."

"Will that be all, Headmaster?" asked Snape. "I must be getting back to packing. The Dark Lord expects me to be on Spinners End by tomorrow. He indicated that he would be in need of my services soon, and prefers that I am able to apparate to his side readily."

"Yes, Severus, that is all I needed," said Dumbledore. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a Lemon Drop? They're quite good. A surprising combination of sweetness and sourness, which gives them a remarkable flavor. I think you would really enjoy them."

Snape sneered at the yellow candies, and politely rejected them for what was probably the thousandth time. The Death-Eater-turned-potions-master turned and left his superior's office, with a swish of his black robes.


	4. A Time to Kill

**Chapter Four:**

**A Time to Kill**

The lemon drop touched the Dark Lord's tongue, and he closed his mouth.

It was sour, so sour that it made his lips pucker! No, wait a minute, it was sweet! What a pleasant combination of flavors. Lord Voldemort closed his scarlet eyes in absolute ecstasy. If all muggle candy was this delicious…

"No!" he thought desperately. " Muggles are lesser life forms. This sweet is purely a fluke of an otherwise abominable culture: the only worthwhile thing muggle society has ever invented," he reasoned. Yet there was a kernel of doubt at the back of Voldemort's mind. "Maybe muggle confectioners should simply be enslaved, rather than entirely eliminated," he thought. "Yes, that idea merits consideration."

As the Dark Lord was debating whether or not to murder muggle candy-makers, a dull pop resounded in his sitting chamber.

"Who's there!" he squeaked. "Ahem! I mean, yes loyal Death Eater, come and bow before me, your master!" he finished, in a more dignified, although still high-pitched, tone.

"Yes, Master," answered a female voice. Bellatrix LeStrange stepped forward, knelt at Voldemort's feet, and kissed the hem of his robes.

"I have not summoned you, Bella, yet you dare invade the abode of the Dark Lord?" Voldemort challenged.

"I am sorry, Master, but I am ashamed of my failure," Bellatrix looked fairly contrite, a remarkable accomplishment for her. "I have failed you, and Potter escaped. I beg of you to return my sister's worthless husband to her, and to forgive me…"

Bellatrix trailed off as her hooded eyes met Lord Voldemort's narrowed crimson gaze.

"You dare to come before your master to beg for the freedom of the man who jeopardized our entire cause for his own personal gain? Your impudence astounds me, Bellatrix, as does Narcissa's. She will see her husband again if I am ever feeling generous enough to end both of their miserable lives at the same time."

"I apologize, Master," Bellatrix backed away almost imperceptibly, instinctually. "I will inform my sister that begging will do her no good, just as I told her before I came. She insisted that I try."

"Your insolence deserves punishment, Bella," said Voldemort calculatingly. "However, I shall let you escape unharmed this time, because you were the only Death Eater to accomplish anything in the Department of Mysteries."

"Thank you, Master," said Bellatrix, still kneeling on the ground.

"You may rise," said Voldemort. "Inform your sister that I shall summon her this evening, and that she is to bring the boy. We have much to plan."

Bellatrix rose silently and disapparated with a swish of her black cloak.

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The next morning found the Dark Lord at his black lacquered dining table, with a mug of English Breakfast Tea and a scone. He was reading the Daily Prophet, which Wormtail faithfully stole from a different house every morning.

"So that imbecile Fudge has finally acknowledged my return, has he?" thought Voldemort amusedly, raising his black mug to his lipless mouth. "He actually called me 'Lord Thingy!' It's always so lovely to be the cause of terror. Now that I no longer have to worry about secrecy, I must begin making my plans. What to do first?"

While eating his continental breakfast and considering his next step in his scheme for world domination, the Dark Lord heard the telltale "pop" of another of his loyal Death Eater's arrival. Quickly vanishing his decidedly un-evil meal, Lord Voldemort stood and bade his visitor enter the dining room. The rogue werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, entered his chamber, a feral glint in his eye.

"Good morning, Master," intoned Greyback, kneeling before his master, head bent in a pose of submission, although he undoubtedly did not feel it.

"What is it, Greyback? Have I not provided you enough prey?" asked Voldemort.

Greyback raised his head and smiled, his pointed eyeteeth gleaming in the dimly lit underground room. "I thank you for the prey, master. However, I require more freedom in procuring human flesh than you have given me recently."

"In case you have failed to notice, Fenrir, I have given you much more freedom than the Ministry would ever consider."

"I understand, Master," said the werewolf.

"Perhaps your hunger for human flesh may be fulfilled sooner than you think, Fenrir. I intend to assemble a group here tonight, to test the loyalty of those who have just rejoined us. I will summon you along with the others," said Voldemort.

"Thank you, Master," said Greyback, his face twisted in a chilling grin. He left abruptly, satisfied that he would be allowed to rip out at least one child's throat that night.

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At eleven o'clock that night, Lord Voldemort summoned the rat, Peter Pettigrew, to his side.

"Give me your arm, Wormtail," he commanded.

"Yes, master." Pettigrew presented his right hand, which seemed to be made of some kind of metal.

"No, you incompetent fool!" hissed Voldemort, "your other arm!"

Wormtail held out his left arm this time, whimpering, and the Dark Lord touched the ugly mark that marred Pettigrew's pale flesh.

Peter sat in a corner, sobbing and cradling his tattooed limb, while the rest of Voldemort's Death Eaters apparated into the room. When a large enough group of black-cloaked and masked individuals had appeared, Voldemort addressed the crowd of his loyal (and one not-so-loyal) servants.

"My faithful Death Eaters!" he exclaimed. "As most of you are aware, the Ministry of Magic now knows of my rebirth. As a result, we must hide in the shadows no longer. We must strike fear into the hearts of mudbloods and blood traitors. We must wrest power from the imbeciles at the Ministry of Magic. We must take back our world from those who are unworthy to taint it with their presence. We must take action, and we shall begin tonight!

"A group of Death Eaters was assigned the rather simple task of retrieving an item from the Ministry of Magic. They failed miserably, and the Aurors apprehended all but one of them. They revealed my rebirth to the Ministry and the wizarding world at large. For this abysmal failure, they will remain in Azkaban." The Dark Lord heard a quiet sniffle from the circle.

"Bellatrix," he commanded, "come forward and receive the punishment you deserve."

Lestrange stepped out of her place in the circle and approached her master. Once again, she kneeled on the ground before him.

"_Crucio!_" The woman screamed, writhing on the ground in obvious agony. A small smile played on Voldemort's mangled face as he held her under the curse.

After a few moments, he lifted his wand, and Lestrange scrambled back into her kneeling position, hastily wiping unwarranted tears from her cheeks, and faced her master unwaveringly once again.

"Have you learned your lesson, Bella?" he asked. "Do not fail me again. The results of a second such failure will be much less…pleasant."

"Yes, Master," she intoned.

"Return to your place in the circle. There is much business to discuss." The Death Eater did as her master ordered.

"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort began again, "it is time to reclaim the rightful place of purebloods in wizarding society. It is time to take action against the injustices done to our people. It is time to finish the noble work of my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. Tonight, we will use force to begin the process of achieving our objectives. Follow me, to destiny!"


	5. Muggles Eat Candy Too, You Know

Renewal of disclaimer again: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be rich. If I was rich, I would be able to do whatever I wanted, so I'd probably be in Hawaii instead of snowy Wisconsin, writing fanfiction.

This chapter has been updated to better reflect the events of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

I'm rating this chapter PG-13, just to be safe. It has some violence, which was necessary to furthering the plot. It wouldn't be a Voldemort fic without any muggles being tortured!

In the process of writing this fic, I myself have become addicted to lemon drops. Just a weird little fact to prove that lemon drops CAN change a person. Well, maybe not change, since I was pretty much like this before, but they can have some sort of effect on one's eating habits, I suppose.

Thanks to Katy again, my evil co-conspirator and beta reader. Now on to the next part of the story!

Chapter 5: Muggles Eat Candy Too, You Know

Lord Voldemort silently appeared on the outskirts of a small town, and stood still, surveying his surroundings and waiting for his Death Eaters to arrive. Within moments, a series of popping and cracking noises resounded in the still night air, and the Dark Lord was once again surrounded by black-cloaked and hooded figures, his faithful servants.

He addressed the circle that had hastily formed around him. "Tonight we shall strike fear into the hearts of all muggles and muggle-lovers. A giant is waiting for us ahead, to assist us in our venture. We shall wreak destruction upon those who dare to oppose us, those who claim that we of pure blood are akin to the lowly muggles and mudbloods. Follow closely, and you shall receive your assignments when we join the giant."

Lord Voldemort stalked off with a long-legged stride, parting the circle as his servants jumped aside for him. The masked and hooded group followed in his wake, eager to do his will, to claim for themselves a bit of the power he radiated.

At the village center, they approached what looked like two thick, gray tree trunks. The giant towered twenty feet above the Death Eaters, waiting for the Dark Lord's command to commence its rampage.

"My loyal servants," Lord Voldemort began again, "listen closely. We shall split into groups, which will allow us to cover as much ground as possible. You are to leave no stone unturned, no house intact."

He indicated a group of Death Eaters. "You are to take the southern section of the town. You may do as you wish. If you attract the attention of the Aurors, which you most certainly will with repeated use of magic in this part of the country, you are to disapparate immediately. Do not allow yourselves to be caught, for I will not reward incompetence, and you will remain in Azkaban among the dementors."

He made a sweeping gesture at another group. "You shall take the eastern section of the village, which contains the commercial district. You are to use what little judgment you possess to cause irreparable financial harm to the unworthy muggles who own the businesses."

He turned to the last four members of the group. "Severus and Bellatrix, my most loyal Death Eaters. You are to accompany me tonight, along with Narcissa and the boy." He waved a careless hand in their general direction. "Draco, I welcome you as my servant, and I expect that you will serve me better than your incompetent father. Although this is your first experience, I will not tolerate hesitation on your part. Prove yourself to me, and I shall give you a higher honor than your father ever deserved or received."

Lord Voldemort swung his long cloak around his shoulders and stalked off into the night once more, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Draco struggling to keep up with his pace. Severus walked effortlessly at his master's side, his longer legs serving him well.

They arrived in front of the first home in the section of the sleeping village that the Dark Lord had reserved for his personal contingent. It was a middle-class residential area, with a multitude of unimpressive and unremarkable homes spaced close together, each with a small and unkempt garden in front.

"Severus," said the Dark Lord. "You may have the honor of opening the door."

The professor raised his wand and muttered "_Alohamora_." A clicking sound resonated from the doorjamb, and Snape turned the knob easily, granting them entry to the house.

Stepping into the foyer, the Dark Lord indicated that Severus and Draco should retrieve the muggles from their beds. They wordlessly obeyed his command, climbing the staircase across from the door, while Voldemort and the two women retreated to the living room.

A grandfather clock stood against one wall of the disorderly room, surrounded by shelves filled with well-thumbed books and many stationary muggle pictures of two small children. Another wall featured a medium-sized television and other various electronics that went with it, and three windows took up a third wall, each covered with cheap vinyl blinds. Draco sneered as he studied the muggles' belongings, so different from the opulent artifacts of his own home. It all looked cheap and inferior to eyes so accustomed to magic and riches.

The godfather clock, incongruous with the rest of the room, and most likely an inheritance from a wealthier relative, chimed twelve times, as a scream resounded from the bedrooms above. Bellatrix's eyes shone with excitement and bloodlust, anticipating the agony she would soon inflict.

As the clock ceased its soft noise, two sets of footsteps became audible on the stairway. Seconds later, Draco Malfoy's hooded shape appeared, levitating two small and frightened children, a boy and a girl, both magically bound and gagged, in front of him. Severus followed a moment later with a woman who was apparently the children's mother, a middle-aged muggle woman in a cotton nightdress, her hair in curlers. She had been stunned.

The two released their prisoners from the levitation charms none too carefully, unceremoniously dropping them to the ground. The muggle girl's eyes were wide and disbelieving, and silent tears poured down her brother's face. The Death Eaters were unmoved by the children's emotions.

Severus pointed his wand at the unconscious woman in front of him. "_Ennervate_," he said. The woman twitched slightly, then opened her eyes. As her vision focused, and she recalled what had happened, being rudely awakened and taken from her bed, she resumed her screams.

Bellatrix stepped forward toward the screaming, terrified woman with a dangerous grin curving her lips. She struck out at the muggle physically, not bothering to remove her wand to cause pain, and kicked her sharply in the ribs. "Shut it," she commanded, "or do you want me to snap your brat's neck right now?" The woman fell silent, terrified into submission.

The Dark Lord surveyed the carnage, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The Ministry would be hard-pressed to explain away the disaster he was currently orchestrating, and the muggles in this particular house would soon be in no state to recount the events to the Aurors.

Severus stepped back from the woman, letting Bella have her fun. His absence would not be noticed for a moment, but he must act quickly to fulfill the headmaster's foolish wishes. He removed a small bag of sweets from an inside pocket of his cloak. Holding it inside his sleeve, so the Dark Lord could not see the offending object, he searched for a spot that would effectively display the sweets. Spotting a small table in front of the sofa, he set the sweets in the middle, among the various food wrappers that already littered the surface.

Quickly, Snape returned to the center of the room, where Bellatrix was gleefully taunting the sobbing woman, while she held the smallest child upside-down in front of her.

Draco's wand was trained on the older child, a girl of about eight years old. His eyes narrowed, he released the ropes that bound her arms and legs. "_Crucio!_" he yelled. The child shrieked in pain, spasming on the floor.

"Very good, Draco," commended the Dark Lord. "You are more powerful than I expected a sixteen-year-old wizard to be, and your hatred of muggles and mudbloods serves you well."

Bellatrix dropped the smaller child, and now stood over the woman. "Poor wittle babies," she mocked in a sing-song voice. "Wittle babies want their mummy."

On an impulse, Severus released the ropes fastening the small boy's limbs, pointed his wand, and muttered "_Imperio!_" The child stood up and slowly walked out of the room.

Pleased with his Death Eaters' techniques, the Dark Lord turned his back on Bellatrix and her baby-talk to look at Narcissa, who was watching silently, seemingly withdrawn, as she vaguely watched her son torturing the child that was currently twitching under his wand.

As the Dark Lord moved his head, a flash of yellow on a cluttered table caught his eye, and he froze, a wave of shock sending shivers through his body.

It couldn't be! But it was. There, on a coffee table in the home of his latest muggle victims, sat a bag of lemon drops, the very sweet he had eaten and enjoyed such a short time ago.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord's mind was flooded with pictures of the same muggles, the ones who were currently lying battered on the floor in pools of their own blood, eating the delicious sweet. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of pooled bodily fluids soaking into carpeting and the sound of pain-filled shrieks as his Death Eaters enthusiastically fulfilled the tasks he had set them. He could not get rid of it --- the sight of the children's blood and the sound of their screams were imprinted on his mind.

He suddenly felt as if he had to get out of the room. So Lord Voldemort did something that he had never done before: he walked out of a muggle-torture session.

A few minutes later, an exhilarated Bellatrix Lestrange found her master sitting on the front porch of the muggle home.

"We have finished with the muggles, Master!" she announced excitedly. "They are all dead. Severus had the boy stab his mother and sister to death under the influence of the imperius curse, and then I let Narcissa cast the killing curse on him. May we continue with the next house?

For the first time in his career as a dark wizard, Lord Voldemort had the urge to say no. However, a still-rational part of his mind refused to let him. "They cannot know that I have doubts! My Death Eaters must not suspect that I am going soft!" he thought to himself. He gave Bellatrix his consent, and silently disappeared to the next destination. His Death Eaters dutifully followed him.

Severus had noticed Lord Voldemort's conspicuous absence as he had forced the small child to murder his family. Snape could not believe that the Dark Lord's sudden loss of enthusiasm could be blamed on a small bag of muggle sweets. It just seemed too absurd to be true. As a man of science (at least in whatever way magic could be scientific), he could not rely on the results of one test. Therefore, Snape resolved to repeat his previous action of leaving a bag of lemon drops out, only this time he would do so earlier in the festivities.

The greasy-haired potions master strode into an unlighted muggle kitchen in the neighboring home, along with his student, Draco, the boy's mother, and his unhinged aunt. Silently breaking away from the group, he reached into his cloak pocket and produced another bag of lemon drops. He placed them on top of some muggle contraption that had a bunch of numbers on it and a window on the front, which seemed to have collected a pile of junk that didn't belong anywhere else in the house. He figured that the bag's placement would seem natural among the nest of rubber bands, paper plates, and stale cookies. His mission for Dumbledore completed, Severus retreated back to the group to watch for any reaction from his former master.

Lord Voldemort was still uncomfortable. This was an entirely new experience for him. He had never before felt wrong about the things he did, not even as a child. He had never doubted his own abilities or reasons, he had never felt guilty about anything. Sure he had experienced anger, pain, and of course varying degrees of paranoia, but this growing feeling that he was not doing the right thing was something he had never felt before, not even as a young boy in the orphanage.

The Dark Lord reasoned that he still needed to keep up appearances. This was no time to go soft. He instructed Draco and Bellatrix to fetch the latest batch of muggles, forcing himself to think of them as animals, but not cute animals like puppies or kittens. It was best to think of muggles as slugs.

Screams of terror again pierced the night. Soon Draco returned with a paunchy, balding middle-aged man, bound and gagged, floating in front of him. His Aunt Bella roughly thrust the unfortunate man's wife onto the floor before their master.

"Please sir! We'll give you anything you want! Just please don't hurt us!" sobbed the muggle woman.

"Shut up, you filthy muggle!" Bellatrix screeched, backhanding her sharply. The woman gave one more sob before lapsing into terrified silence.

As Lord Voldemort watched the scene directly in front of him, his uncomfortable feeling increased dramatically. He wrenched his scarlet eyes away from the of the muggle woman's pleading, terrified gaze, and sought anything that would relieve the feeling of uneasiness that he felt. What he saw, however, merely intensified his discomfort.

It was another bag of lemon drops. The innocent package of sweets lied on top of some silly muggle machine, among piles of junk. The coincidence was remarkable. The Dark Lord couldn't help it; he gasped in disbelief.

"What is it, Master?" yelled a concerned Bellatrix Lestrange, dropping the muggle man, whom she had been hanging upside down in mid-air with a levitation charm, on the hard tile floor. Seeing the shocked expression on her master's face, she ran to him.

"N-nothing, Bella," the Dark Lord stammered. His discomfort was slowly becoming a mixture of disgust and panic. He suddenly realized what was wrong. He, Lord Voldemort, descendant of Salazar Slytherin and destroyer of all "impure" had something in common with the very muggles he sought to erase from the planet!

The thought was too much. Overcome with horror, and not knowing whether he was revolted more by his complicity in the torture or by his attachment to the muggles he had always hated and resented, the Dark Lord disapparated from the site of his own attack.

The attack continued in Lord Voldemort's absence, both in the muggle kitchen and the rest of the town.

Severus Snape observed Lord Voldemort's behavior from across the room in the kitchen. Behind his Death Eater's mask, he smirked.


	6. Journeying into Enemy Territory

This chapter has been updated to comply with _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_.

On with chapter 6!

Journeying into Enemy Territory 

Turmoil. The Dark Lord was in turmoil. He could think of no better description for his current state of mind. He paced the dimly lit, dark-colored chamber, trying to make sense out of the jumble of emotions he was feeling. Emotions! He had never had to deal with that sort of thing at all before. Only weaklings allowed themselves to feel empathy for others, and Lord Voldemort was _not_ a weakling.

He was the Dark Lord! He was evil, powerful, bent on racial purity and world domination, and, could he be…ethical! No, that was simply impossible! That certainly had no place in a description of Lord Voldemort! He would be damned if his perfected high-pitched mirthless cackle became tainted with compassion! He had spent his entire life, including those unproductive years possessing animals in that Albanian forest, making sure that he had no conscience. By the time he was eight or nine years old, he had completely quashed his soppy sentiments, and he had proved it at every chance he got. Was all that rationalization for naught?

Lord Voldemort shrieked in frustration, nearly collapsing onto his ornately carved throne, covering his troubled scarlet eyes with shaking chalk-white hands.

"Why me?" he cried aloud. "Why do I have, the only dark wizard in recent history to have a chance of actually reaching his or her goals, feel sorry for those inferior, dirty muggles? ARRGGGH!"

Could he, Lord Voldemort, have any chance of success if he wasn't wholeheartedly committed to the purity of wizarding blood? Perhaps it was time for him to reassess his ultimate goals. Was a world without Lemon Drops truly a world worth living in? For the first time in his life, the Dark Lord wasn't sure he could answer that question in the affirmative.

"Puking Pastilles," Severus sneered at the gargoyle blocking his path to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore had summoned him from the other side of the country, and he was in no mood to deal with the headmaster's silly penchant for sweets. The usually inanimate stone seemed, to Severus at least, to roll its eyes at Dumbledore's choice of passwords. It moved aside, allowing the potions master access to the smoothly moving spiral staircase, which carried him up to his scheming boss's study.

After stepping off the magical escalator, Snape lifted the griffin-shaped knocker and banged it impatiently against the wooden door.

"Come in, Severus," called Dumbledore's deep voice. Snape entered the circular room, and was met by his superior's twinkling blue eyes.

"Severus, my dear boy! How are you?" asked Albus Dumbledore cheerfully. "Take a seat. Would you like a Lemon Drop?"

Severus Snape wisely refused the bowl of sweets that Dumbledore practically forced on him. What on earth was going on with these Lemon Drops? After seeing the Dark Lord's reaction to the sweets, he would sooner have willingly accepted a Canary Cream from the Weasley twins than a Lemon Drop from the headmaster. If he ate one, would he suddenly begin begging for the marauders' forgiveness?

"So, Severus, I trust that your last mission for Lord Voldemort was an interesting one," commented Dumbledore. Snape, as usual, cringed at the casual use of the Dark Lord's name, but did not reprimand the headmaster. "I assume that the objects I gave you produced some unusual reactions in the Dark Lord!" Albus settled his hypnotically twinkling gaze on Snape.

"What in the world did those sweets do to him, Albus?" Severus spoke angrily, his black eyes narrowed. "I was summoned to the Dark Lord's side last night. You recall the _Prophet_ story about the large-scale attack in the West Country this morning? Well, the Dark Lord left in the middle of the attack, visibly shaken."

Dumbledore continued to smile placidly at the irate ex-Death Eater across the desk from him. "What did I do to Lord Voldemort, Severus?" repeated the headmaster calmly. "I did nothing to him. Nothing at all. However, I hear that the Office of Misinformation has told the muggles that the attack was actually a hurricane. I find that explanation quite amusing, although the attack itself was anything but funny."

Severus sincerely wondered if Albus was finally going senile. "Then what was the purpose of having me leave packages of Lemon Drops in You-Know-Who's sight? I know this is not just an elaborate joke, Albus. You had to have done _something_ to him, and I resent the fact that you are not fully disclosing your actions to me!"

"Ah, Severus. I truly did nothing to Tom. I merely provided an opportunity. It was ultimately his choice, whether to grasp it or not. Please, do have some lemon drops, Severus. You're too agitated for your own good."

Almost imperceptibly backing away from the sweets, Snape shook his greasy head decisively. "No, Albus. I will not have a Lemon Drop. I think I'll go…back to my house now." He silently added that he would rather be civil to Harry Potter than eat one of those sweets. He would almost rather allow Neville Longbottom in his NEWTS class than eat one. No, that was probably going too far.

"Very well, Severus. Thank you for your help. Your simple actions may very well prove to turn the tide of this war."

A very confused and disgruntled Snape rode the spiral staircase away from Dumbledore's office, stalked through the castle, and left through the front doors.

Lemon Drops! Lord Voldemort was desperate for the delicious yellow tangy sweets. How in the name of Merlin was he to get some? The most powerful dark lord in over a hundred years could not just waltz into a muggle candy store, after all. It was impossible, unheard of. Or could he?

There were some logistical problems with the plan, which Voldemort was aware of. First of all, where were these muggle sweetshops located? Was it proper to simply apparate into the store? No, probably not. A muggle shop was also unlikely to be connected to the floo network as well. A portkey might work, but the Dark Lord disliked the hard landing. It was undignified. Oh sod it all! Why couldn't Honeydukes simply sell what he wanted? Then he could simply have one of his Death Eaters put the proprietor under the Imperius curse, and it would be simple to get whatever he wanted.

There was another major obstacle to getting the sweets that the Dark Lord craved. If he were to venture into the muggle world, he would have to change his appearance, at least temporarily. He had suddenly realized that he wasn't exactly…presentable. Not that red eyes with vertical pupils, chalk-white skin, and flat, slit-like nostrils were unattractive features; they were just…rather unusual. It was possible that the muggles he would inevitably meet in a muggle sweetshop would be uncomfortable with his looks. Clothes would be less of a problem. The Dark Lord clearly recalled several hideous muggle fashions from his childhood in the orphanage. With his superior magical skill, he would undoubtedly be able to conjure or transfigure something appropriate.

It suddenly struck Lord Voldemort that never before had he wished to not intimidate muggles. Not only had he never attempted to appear acceptable to them, but he had absolutely no idea how to do so! How was a creature of magic, such as himself, to interact with muggles within the confines of both muggle and wizarding law? He had never even tried to obey laws before, whether magical or muggle, yet he was now going to attempt to venture into the muggle world?

This was just too complicated! Life had been so much simpler and more carefree when he had only needed to worry about murdering and torturing people. The Dark Lord was beginning to realize that the true difficulties in life came from restraining oneself. No wonder he had never wished to emulate any of the other children in the orphanage or at Hogwarts: it was hard work, being normal!

Lord Voldemort mentally pulled his train of thought back to the problem at hand. How was he to get his Lemon Drops? The Dark Lord knew better than to ask his loyal minions to help him with this mission. Most of them would be appalled at entering the muggle world. A few would be unable to interact with muggles without physically harming them, or at least baiting them with a few of the more malicious magical tricks they could surreptitiously pull off. Of the few who would not be shocked and disgusted by their master's request, Voldemort had his doubts about their competence. Wormtail, for instance, could do absolutely nothing right. Even when he was simply sent to steal a newspaper, he came back with sections of the Prophet missing. The Dark Lord was seriously considering reassigning many of Wormtail's tasks to Nagini.

Lord Voldemort thought that it was really a shame that Barty Crouch was currently lacking a soul. If it wasn't for that small matter, he might have been the perfect choice for this task. Unfortunately, he was currently incapable of following even the simplest of directions, so that option would never work.

"Wait a minute!" cried Voldemort. "That's it! I'll use polyjuice, just like I had Barty do last year!" Then he remembered that not only did polyjuice take a month to brew, he would also need to pick a servant whose appearance he would not be averse to taking on for an hour or two.

"Bellatrix is good-looking, in that Azkaban-escapee sort of way, but I'd rather not become a woman. That's a whole set of psychological issues that I'd rather not deal with right now," the Dark Lord contemplated. "Wormtail is not only unattractive, he's also supposed to be dead. It would really put a damper on things if one of those Ministry of Magic fools happened across me looking like him. Not that escaping from Azkaban would be difficult for me; it would simply be inconvenient. Severus's nose is too big, and his hair is too greasy. Crabbe and Goyle are too all-around ugly. Fenrir Greyback is terrifying even in human form.

Finally, after several hours of obsessively weighing advantages and disadvantages of some fifteen different plans, the Dark Lord decided how he would change his appearance in order to make a purchase from a muggle sweetshop. An illusion charm on his face turned his scarlet eyes brown, gave him a nose to go along with his nostrils, and made his skin a slightly healthier shade of…pale. He wasn't his normal handsome self, he reasoned while studying his reflection in an ornate black-lacquered mirror, but it would have to suffice for the moment.

Next, Voldemort needed muggle clothes. He wracked his memory, and was able to visualize a muggle outfit he was forced to wear during his childhood. He concentrated, pointing his wand at his signature black velvet cloak. It became a pair of light-colored pants, just like the ones he had worn as an aspiring dark wizard in the orphanage. Next, the Dark Lord removed his black robes. Standing in just his black underwear, he transfigured the robes into a matching tunic.

Lord Voldemort surveyed his handiwork approvingly. The outfit was just as he remembered it. He pulled on the new muggle clothing, and checked his appearance in the mirror. A new person stared back at the Dark Lord: bald, brown-eyed, and less pale, wearing a colorless orphanage uniform.

Unable, or perhaps unwilling to recognize that he was an adult in the 1990's wearing a child's orphanage uniform from the 1940's, Lord Voldemort smiled and winked rakishly at the image in the mirror.

"Come on, you handsome devil," he told his reflection. "Let's go get those muggle sweets!"


	7. Good First Impressions

First, a few author's notes!  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed so far! I really love getting reviews, but being evil, greedy, and bent on universe domination (world domination would be aiming too low), I want more reviews!! So please, if you like the story, leave a review. If you have suggestions, leave a review. If you want to request control of a city or small country when my best friend and I become dictators of the universe, leave a review!!  
  
Also, I wanted to comment on the direction of the story. I'm going to be rewriting part of the first chapter soon, because I had an epiphany. I can't really say more, except that as silly as this story is, it does follow cannon in fulfilling the prophecy.  
  
One character in this chapter is named for my (insane) friend/beta reader/co-dictator. I hope everyone likes it. Now, on with the story!  
  
Chapter Seven: Good First Impressions  
  
"Mummy! Mummy! I want some sweets!" Little children wailed variations on that theme all over the small store. Exasperated parents tried to control their young charges in vain. Pleas for behavior resounded throughout the room. Bribery was offered, punishment was threatened, and four-year-olds shoved brightly colored toffees into the pockets of their trousers in that split second during which their parents' backs were turned.  
  
Such was the day-to-day atmosphere in the most popular sweetshop in London.  
  
One of the harassed clerks, a young man in his early twenties, declared that it was time for his daily break. All that whining gave him a headache, and he desperately needed a smoke to calm his nerves. He knew he would never be able to successfully quit the habit with all of those screaming toddlers around! The clerk stepped into the alley in back of the store, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket, and brought it to his lips. As he produced a disposable lighter from another pocket, a faint popping noise resounded.  
  
The young man jumped. The sound had come from behind the trash bins, and he rationalized that it had only been a cat, or some other small animal. He turned his head toward the source of the noise, and screamed.  
  
Standing in a small triangle of space, between the corner of a brick wall and a dumpster, stood a vaguely human figure, where none had been before.  
  
Not only had this...person appeared out of nowhere, into a spot that was physically impossible for someone of that size to enter, this was possibly the strangest looking individual the young clerk had ever seen!  
  
The man-the clerk supposed it was a man from his physical build-was completely bald and skeletally thin. He didn't even have so much as eyebrows. Stranger yet were the man's eyes. The color was an average enough shade of brown, but the pupils were...vertical! They were like a cat's eyes! The man was also a bit pale, although he looked as though he had used some instant tanner---a bit orange and spotty.  
  
His clothes were stranger yet. It looked almost as if the bloke was wearing women's capri pants---they ended just below his knee. Black knee socks met the short pants at the joint. A white button-down shirt, black tie, and black sweater vest completed the peculiar ensemble. He looked like an overgrown version of a newsboy from a 1940's movie.  
  
As the oddly dressed man seemed to take in his surroundings, it became apparent that he had noticed his predicament. He let out a chillingly high- pitched howl of fury, removed a slender stick of wood from the pocket of his strange pants, and pointed it at the large trash bin in front of him. He mumbled some words, his voice sounding dangerously angry.  
  
The dumpster was blasted into smithereens. The young clerk's eyes processed the scene, but his mind refused to believe it. Had that man destroyed a metal dumpster with just a wooden stick and a foreign word?  
  
As the smoke and trash settled, the clerk witnessed the stranger calmly stepping around the rubble while smoothing down his incredibly outdated outfit. The young man stared incredulously.  
  
Round pupils met slitted ones, and both men froze. The stranger's long- fingered hand once again reached for his wooden stick. This time, the clerk heard the word that he uttered.  
  
"Obliviate!"  
  
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The Dark Lord nodded approvingly at his reflection in the thankfully silent mirror. He was determined to get those lemon drops. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and disapparated.  
  
With a nearly silent "pop," Lord Voldemort appeared in a small alley. Noting the muggle modes of transportation, whatever they were called, littering the surrounding scenery, he assumed that he had reached his destination: muggle London.  
  
Still marveling at the ease of entering the public muggle world, the Dark Lord looked directly in front of him.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Maybe this hadn't been his best idea ever. Lord Voldemort was trapped. He was stuck between a brick wall and a giant metal trash bin.  
  
Panic began to seep into the Dark Lord's euphoric pride he felt in actually making it to his destination. He was stuck! There was no space to move! How was he ever to get back to his loyal Death Eaters? More importantly, how was he ever to get his lemon drops?  
  
Partially on instinct, Voldemort reached for his wand. His pale, spider- like hands shaking, he aimed at the dumpster directly in front of him.  
  
"Reducto!" he said quietly, trying to calm his nerves.  
  
The curse hit the metal container, blasting a hole in its side. The sparks that flew from the Dark Lord's wand settled on the contents inside, which promptly began smoldering. Bits of flaming trash fluttered down to earth.  
  
Feeling relieved, Lord Voldemort took a deep breath of smoky air, and stepped away from his brick and metal prison. His lovely muggle clothes were wrinkled, so he smoothed them down with his hands. He certainly didn't want to make a bad impression! This was his first contact with muggles since he was a boy, in which he did not intend to torture and murder them. Anyway, muggles were strange creatures. Would they sell lemon drops to someone who looked like a slob?  
  
The Dark Lord looked up from his now impeccable outfit into the eyes of a young muggle man.  
  
He froze. A muggle! He hadn't planned on meeting one so soon---he wasn't prepared yet! Plus, the muggle must have witnessed everything: the failed apparation, the panic attack...Lord Voldemort could not allow the muggle to have such information against him! What if news of his miscalculation and claustrophobia reached Albus Dumbledore? Or worse, what if his Death Eaters learned of his weaknesses? They were infinitely more dangerous than the headmaster. No, the Dark Lord would have to take measures to prevent that from happening.  
  
"Obliviate!" The young muggle's face went slack. As the Dark Lord stepped around him, he called out, "Sorry, muggle," and continued on his way.  
  
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The Dark Lord donned a pair of white gloves before touching the doorknob, and entered the store. One could never be too careful of those muggle diseases!  
  
As he stepped over the threshold, barrels of sweets met his eyes. He breathed in the scent of sugar. Yes, this was the place. They would certainly stock lemon drops here!  
  
He felt a bump against his leg, and looked down to see a blonde-haired muggle child fallen at his feet.  
  
"Hello there, little muggle," he greeted, offering his gloved hand to help her up.  
  
The little girl took one look at the Dark Lord and screamed. She continued letting out eardrum-piercing shrieks until her mother arrived to comfort her.  
  
"Scary man, mummy! Scary man!" she repeated several times. Her mother glanced up at Lord Voldemort, and carefully backed away, as if he were a wild animal.  
  
Confusedly, the Dark Lord set out toward the counter at the back of the shop. A small boy looked at him and whimpered. Parents searched out their children and hurried them from the shop. For the first time in the history of the store, not a single child protested his or her departure.  
  
Voldemort reached the cash register, and greeted the girl standing behind it. She was looking a bit peaky. The Dark Lord was thankful that he had remembered his enchanted germ-repelling gloves.  
  
Reading her nametag, which said "Katy" on it, Lord Voldemort spoke to the pale cashier.  
  
"Hello, Katy. One pound of lemon drops, please!" he requested in his most cheerful voice.  
  
"I'll give you whatever you want," squeaked the girl. "Just please don't hurt me!" Shaky and looking definitely a bit ill, Katy ran to fill the Dark Lord's order. She quickly returned with a bag of the requested sweets.  
  
Voldemort reached into his pocket and fished out a galleon coin. He offered it to the cashier.  
  
"What's that?" asked the panic-stricken girl. "Just take them and go!" she cried.  
  
Furrowing his nonexistent eyebrows in consternation, Voldemort placed the galleon he had retrieved back in his pocket. Why didn't she want his gold?  
  
Lord Voldemort picked his bag of lemon drops up from the counter beside the cash register. He turned and exited the now empty sweetshop, heading back toward the alley to disapparate. Behind the store sat the obliviated clerk, who scampered away, frightened, at the sight of the Dark Lord.  
  
Shaking his head at the myriad of strange muggle behaviors he had just observed, Lord Voldemort disapparated away from his first peaceful venture into the muggle world in the past forty-five years. 


	8. Analysis

Woohoo! I have more than one page of reviews!! This is incredibly exciting for me, to be perfectly honest, because I was sure it was never going to happen.  
  
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I'm glad that you all seem to like the story. Also thanks to Katy, my insane beta reader, who makes writing this fic so much fun.  
  
I'm very sorry this is so late in being posted. My only excuse is a rather lame one: I had finals. Please forgive me!  
  
On with the story!  
  
Chapter 8: Analysis  
  
Lord Voldemort was glad to be home. Actually, he was relieved. As he stood in front of his ornate, voiceless mirror and removed the charms hiding his true appearance, the Dark Lord reflected on his trip to the muggle sweetshop. He never would have thought that a simple shopping excursion could be so stressful! To be perfectly honest with himself, the Dark Lord was disappointed. His debut as a benign entity in the muggle world had not been nearly as successful as he had hoped. However, he had accomplished his main goal: he had a full pound of lemon drops to consume at his leisure.  
  
He popped a yellow sweet into his mouth and tasted it with a lipless smile of utter contentment. Lemon drops made him happy. This feeling was new to Lord Voldemort. He couldn't remember ever feeling fulfilled and secure before, not even as a young child. He imagined that if his mother had lived to raise him, she might have given him lemon drops.  
  
The Dark Lord visualized the scene he had just witnessed in the sweetshop. He had observed mothers and fathers interacting with their children. The muggle parents had been buying sweets for their young offspring, in order to make the kids happy. The children seemed to have an inordinate amount of power over the adults who cared for them. The parents were willing to sacrifice their own precious power to make their children happy.  
  
This new realization shocked the Dark Lord. No wonder he had never before felt happy and secure! He had never had an adult to care and sacrifice for him. Nobody had ever truly loved Lord Voldemort, and he had never loved another in return. Now, however, Lord Voldemort knew what love was.  
  
Lord Voldemort loved lemon drops.  
  
Once again reaching into the clear plastic bag, the Dark Lord grasped on of the succulent treats. He held it before his eyes. The sugar coating made the yellow morsel sparkle in the torchlight that illuminated his lair. It was a truly beautiful piece of food, in Lord Voldemort's opinion, not to mention the fact that it was incredibly delicious!  
  
A tight, almost painful sensation welled up in the Dark Lord's chest as he twirled the sweet between his chalk-white fingertips. It became difficult for him to swallow, and it felt as though there was a lump in his throat. His eyes prickled strangely.  
  
"Am I choking?" he wondered. He was rather disinclined to believe that was the problem. As a boy at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort had once choked on a Fizzing Whizbee. It had been the first sweet he had ever eaten, and up until a week ago, it had also been his last. He recalled that choking had involved a lot of coughing, but very little of the sentimentality he was currently experiencing. So what was this mildly unpleasant sensation he was now encountering?  
  
Having decided that he was not in immediate danger of suffocation, especially because he was mostly immortal, the Dark Lord allowed his thoughts to drift back to the muggle sweetshop. In hindsight, the children in the store had not reacted to him as he had expected. They had seemed terrified! Lord Voldemort was confused by the children's' behavior. He hadn't even insulted them about their lack of magical ability.  
  
Actually, why did he even care? Lord Voldemort had spent his entire life hating muggles. Why should it suddenly bother him that a few muggle children found him frightening?  
  
In spite of his attempt at rationalization, the Dark Lord couldn't help feeling hurt by the muggles' attitudes. He had made a genuine attempt at friendliness, and it had been rebuffed. However, what truly alarmed Lord Voldemort was that he cared enough to be upset by what a few dirty, inferior muggles thought of him!  
  
The Dark Lord felt awfully strange. His scarlet eyes burned and his vision blurred as a little droplet of moisture spilled from one of them, and trickled down his unnaturally pale cheek.  
  
"Sweet Merlin! My eyes are leaking!" thought Voldemort desperately. He hadn't cried in more than fifty years, since he had been a small boy in a muggle orphanage. Consequently, he did not immediately recognize the symptoms of weeping.  
  
"Wormtail!" he yelled. "Get over here now!"  
  
Peter appeared a moment later, cringing and trembling in fear. "Wh-what do you need, my lord?" he stammered.  
  
"I am ill, you imbecilic dolt! Summon Severus Snape immediately. He is the only trustworthy wizard with the skills necessary to provide me with a curative potion. I can depend on him, unlike you, Wormtail," answered the Dark Lord abusively.  
  
"Y-yes, m-m-master," acquiesced Pettigrew. "R-right away, sir." Wormtail left the chamber, presumably to floo Snape, leaving Lord Voldemort alone with his thoughts once again.  
  
The panic-stricken megalomaniac paced the ornately furnished room. "What is wrong with me?" he kept wondering. "There must be something terribly wrong with me!"  
  
He realized that he had been acting and feeling strange for some time now. This had been going on for about a week, to be specific. A week ago, after his duel with that fool Dumbledore, he had found muggle sweets on his person. Had he contracted some muggle disease from that one lemon drop? He had been so careful to avoid that kind of complication!  
  
Wait---he had already established that Albus Dumbledore had most likely slipped him the package of lemon drops. Had the sweets been enchanted, or even poisoned? Voldemort had assumed that the lemon drops had been tampered with at first, and he had taken measures to neutralize any spells the headmaster may have placed on them. However, what if Dumbledore had used some kind of delayed-release poison? His counter spells were useless against undetectable potions, which Dumbledore, old as he was, was perfectly capable of brewing. Oh, would Severus never arrive?  
  
A timid knock sounded on the door. "Wormtail, you dunderheaded fool, is Snape here yet?" called the edgy Dark Lord.  
  
Peter eased the door open. "Y-yes, m-my lord, he h-has a-arrived."  
  
"Well, send him in immediately, you insolent moron!" roared Voldemort.  
  
Wormtail squeaked and ran from the room, probably to fetch the Hogwarts potions master.  
  
A few tense moments of anticipation passed before a more forceful knock was heard.  
  
"Enter, Severus," commanded the Dark Lord.  
  
A nervous Severus Snape opened the solid mahogany door and stepped into Lord Voldemort's private sitting room. He immediately noticed that no other Death Eaters were present. Only he had been summoned.  
  
"Ah, Severus," greeted Voldemort. "I have a problem that I need you to solve for me. I am ill, and I have reason to believe that Albus Dumbledore is the cause of my ailment. What do you know about this?"  
  
Knowing that the Dark Lord was (mostly) immortal, Severus was sure that his former master could only be implying one thing. He began to panic.  
  
"I am sorry, my lord! Yes, I am a spy for Dumbledore, but please spare my life, and I will serve you faithfully from now on!" cried a terrified Snape, all of his training in occlumency flying out the window in an instant.  
  
"A spy? You, Severus? What in the name of Merlin are you babbling about?" The Dark Lord was confused; he only wanted to be cured of whatever was causing him to develop a conscience.  
  
"N-nothing, master," stammered a sheepish potions master. How was he ever going to get out of this situation?  
  
"Anyway, Severus, I have not been feeling like myself for at least a week. It is common knowledge that Dumbledore wishes me dead. I am afraid that he may have had an opportunity to harm me during our skirmish in the Ministry," Voldemort explained. "Just a short while ago, my eyes began leaking a clear salty fluid. I also experienced some choking sensations, and had difficulty breathing through my nose at the same time."  
  
"You were crying?" exclaimed Snape incredulously.  
  
"Crying? Me? I am the Dark Lord!" roared Voldemort. "I do not cry---I am the most powerful wizard in the world, and possibly in all of history! I do not cry! I am seriously ill, and I need to be cured immediately!"  
  
"Erm, my lord, you do remember that you are immortal, correct? Considering that fact, I highly doubt that Dumbledore could seriously damage your health," Severus responded tentatively. He did not want to trigger his former master's infamous temper.  
  
"What? Oh yes, of course I remember that I'm immortal! After all, I am possibly the most successful dark wizard who ever lived. A lowly schoolteacher like Dumbledore could never defeat me!"  
  
"Of course, my lord," agreed Severus, blocking his real thoughts from the Dark Lord's legilimency.  
  
"You are dismissed, Severus. And remember, none of this ever happened!"  
  
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A wave of relief rushed over the greasy-haired potions master as he apparated outside of the Hogwarts gates, leaving him feeling weak and limp. He was home. When he had found himself summoned to the Dark Lord's lair alone, he had been sure he would never see the castle again. Severus felt incredibly fortunate: he had admitted his duplicity to the Dark Lord himself, had survived, and even had all of his limbs in tact!  
  
As grateful as Severus was for still being alive, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the Dark Lord had been acting very strangely. He had little doubt that his eccentric boss was at least partially responsible for Lord Voldemort's sudden and drastic change in behavior.  
  
Resolving to get to the bottom of the mystery, Snape began walking toward Dumbledore's office. He needed to have a chat with the scheming old man. 


	9. Paranoia

Yet again, I have to announce that I don't own any of the things I'm writing about. I don't even own a lemon drop right now. How very disappointing.  
  
I'm sorry for the slowness of my updates. I have no excuses. I shall now go slam my ears in the oven door, like a house elf. No, maybe not...that would probably hurt.  
  
Please, please, PLEASE review after you read. Encouragement helps me get motivated to write the next chapter. If people really love the story and tell me so, I feel guilty when I don't update for a while. So if you like it, be sure to let me know!  
  
Once again, thanks to my evil beta reader, Katy. What I write depends upon what she finds funny...  
  
Chapter Nine:  
  
Paranoia  
  
Severus hurried purposefully away from the Dark Lord's lair, disapparating mid-stride. He reappeared just outside of Hogsmeade with a loud popping noise, and charged up the hill toward Hogwarts. He stalked through the gates flanked by winged boars, across the school grounds, and into the castle. The agitated man did not even bother to return the evidence of his illegal activities and youthful errors, his mask and hooded cloak, to his office, instead opting to pay his scheming boss an immediate surprise visit.  
  
Snape was fuming. He was absolutely furious, both with Albus and with himself. He had actually blurted out the truth of his role as a spy, and to none other than the Dark Lord himself! Severus was frankly amazed to be alive and unharmed. Since becoming a spy for Dumbledore, he had spent an inordinate amount of his free time imagining the situation he was now experiencing. He always envisioned that another Death Eater would reveal his duplicity; someone like Bellatrix LeStrange seemed likely to investigate him and announce his betrayal to her master. Always in his nightmares, both waking and asleep, the Dark Lord would call him forward, unmask him, and proclaim his treachery to the circle of his minions. Then, Severus could only assume that he would have to endure an excessive amount of torture, until death would finally seem welcoming.  
  
The truth was, Snape mused, that Dumbledore's cryptic refusal to more fully inform his one operative in the Death Eater ranks about his plans could easily have resulted in Severus's protracted, painful, and untimely death. In fact, the greasy-haired potions master could think of no reasonable explanation for his own continued survival! Had Severus believed in miracles, he would have classified Lord Voldemort's failure to murder him as nothing short of the work of God.  
  
However, not being even remotely religious, the only other explanation Severus could find for his former master's bizarre behavior was sheer madness. The Dark Lord was finally cracking up, and Snape owed his life to that mental breakdown. It was the only logical theory he could think of. After all, evil dark wizards don't cry. Extreme Machiavellian sadists like the Dark Lord tend to refrain from such displays of emotion!  
  
There was no doubt in Severus Snape's mind that Albus Dumbledore had done something to precipitate the Dark Lord's psychological crisis. If nothing else positive could be said about Lord Voldemort, at least he was generally predictable. One could always expect cruelty from the Dark Lord, whether that cruelty was immediate or delayed.  
  
It would take a powerful and crafty wizard to impact anyone's psyche as profoundly as the Dark Lord's apparently had been, and Lord Voldemort's rampant paranoia lead him to magically protect his mind more thoroughly than the average wizard could even dream of. Only Dumbledore had both the means and the motive to cause Voldemort's sudden attack of emotion. Severus could come to no other conclusion that made sense.  
  
Didn't the old man realize that he could have caused his potions master's death? Severus vowed to force an explanation out of his superior. For Merlin's sake, the Dark Lord had been weeping!  
  
Severus finally reached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office, and he ceased his deliberations. "Puking Pastilles," he snapped exasperatedly. The gargoyle rolled its stone eyes at the headmaster's choice of passwords, sympathizing with the potions master. Still shaking his head at the headmaster's antics, Snape stepped onto the spiral staircase and rode up to the door leading to Dumbledore's office. He barged right in, neglecting to make use of the griffin-shaped knocker, not really caring if he interrupted anything.  
  
The office, which was full of magical instruments in various states of disrepair, muggle sweets and newspapers, dozens of napping portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, and a large scarlet and gold bird was devoid of its usual human inhabitant.  
  
Snape sighed, irritated at the headmaster's absence. The old coot was constantly demanding his presence when the potions master was otherwise occupied, but when Severus actually wanted to speak to him, Albus was nowhere to be found. Looking at his watch, Snape realized that it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, which meant that Albus was most likely in the school's kitchens. Everyday, the headmaster enjoyed a mid- afternoon snack of a hot fudge sundae and a glass of pumpkin juice. His daily visits also served the purpose of allowing him to chat with the Hogwarts house elves, whom he found to be extremely amusing creatures. Dumbledore would probably not return for at least fifteen or twenty minutes; more, if he felt like taking a stroll around the school grounds. He often stopped to skip stones on the lake, and to toss slightly stale pieces of bread to the giant squid that inhabited it.  
  
With a groan, Severus collapsed onto one of the two chairs in front of Albus's desk, determined to remain in that exact spot until his questions were satisfactorily answered. He was prepared for a long wait, and decided to occupy the time in a useful manner: he sat there, incubating his anger toward the headmaster.  
  
Snape was just building up his rage to the point of indignation when, to his great surprise, the door behind his back clicked open and Fawkes took flight. The phoenix landed on a shoulder clad in orange fabric with bright pink stars.  
  
"Severus, my boy! I had an inkling that I might find you waiting for me here," greeted Albus Dumbledore, with a smile that made his blue eyes twinkle merrily. "I cut my conversation with Dobby short so that I could assist you. What a fascinating creature that Dobby is! Did you know that he has a sock collection to rival my own?"  
  
Albus crossed the room and sat down behind his massive desk. He stroked his pet phoenix with one hand, while straightening his half-moon glasses with the other. His hypnotic gaze met Severus's eyes questioningly.  
  
A momentary staring contest ensued, neither man willing to be the first to speak. Finally, Severus could no longer endure the suspense.  
  
"What in the name of Salazar Slytherin have you done to the Dark Lord, Albus?" he exploded.  
  
"What have I done to Lord Voldemort?" Dumbledore paraphrased Snape's question. Severus himself cringed at the voicing of the Dark Lord's name.  
  
"Do not be afraid of his name, Severus," Dumbledore admonished. "It's just an anagram. Delightful games, anagrams. I often find that doing the daily anagram puzzle in the morning Prophet-"  
  
"Don't try to change the subject, Albus," Snape warned the evasive headmaster.  
  
Dumbledore arranged his features into a politely puzzled expression. "What in the world do you mean, Severus? Please be more specific in your questioning."  
  
"Get out of it, Albus!" Snape very nearly shouted. "I was just summoned to the Dark Lord's side, and do you have any idea what I found there?"  
  
"Please, dear boy, enlighten me as to what you encountered," said Dumbledore, assuming the role of Severus's confidant, with the air of what the muggles referred to as a psychologist.  
  
"The Dark Lord was crying, Albus. He was actually weeping! Don't even try to convince me of your innocence in the matter. I know better than to believe any claims of that kind from you. He summoned me because he thought he was ill, and he wanted to request a curative potion from me. However, I discovered that he wasn't ill; he had only been crying! The sight of a teary-eyed Dark Lord certainly ranked high on the list of things I never expected to encounter during my lifetime. As a matter of fact, I was under the impression that it was absolutely impossible! Doesn't it sound just the slightest bit odd to you, Albus? With the exception of rage, of course, the Dark Lord has never before given even the slightest indication that he feels any kind of human emotion. All of the evidence has pointed to the contrary. You yourself have theorized that he utilized some form of obscure dark magic to rid himself of all of what he perceived as human weaknesses. Today, I apparated into his lair and found him crying. He actually thought that his eyes were leaking, Albus! That's how long it had been since he had last shed a single tear."  
  
"That is simply amazing, Severus," said Dumbledore in a mildly amused voice. However well controlled the headmaster's expression was, Snape could detect the barely controlled excitement and triumph in his brightly twinkling eyes. "However, I fail to understand how I am responsible for Lord Voldemort's sudden attack of empathy."  
  
Snape desperately fought to suppress the urge to strangle his boss with his bare hands, and instead clenched his fists and jaw. A pulsating vein became plainly visible on his left temple.  
  
"Albus," he began in a dangerous tone, "I am not one to believe in coincidences. I am aware that you recently implemented some sort of plan to defeat the Dark Lord. You are also being very evasive when questioned about the important mission that you assigned me last week. I believe that I have a right to know what is going on! After all, I regularly risk my life for these little plans of yours. What if one of them went awry?"  
  
"I assure you, Severus, I have taken all the necessary precautions to keep you safe. All of your questions will be answered in time. You must calm down before you give yourself a stroke," said Albus placidly.  
  
"All of the necessary precautions, Albus? Well, I was so shocked and confused by the Dark Lord's behavior this afternoon that I blurted out that I am spying against him! I could have been killed, and my death would have been due to your negligence. You cannot just leave me to operate without adequate information, Albus. I was so bewildered that I nearly lost my life, which would therefore have lost your one link to the Death Eaters!"  
  
"Please try to relax, Severus," Dumbledore responded. "You're too tense for your own good. I don't like the way your face has gotten so red. Would you care for some tea and biscuits? That always makes me feel less agitated."  
  
"I'm tense because I was nearly murdered not an hour ago!" Severus leapt to his feet, yelling at the elderly headmaster. "I need answers, and I need them immediately. Tell my why I was not brutally tortured to death, Albus! I have the right to know!"  
  
"Please have a lemon drop, Severus. They are wonderful for easing tension. You are much too anxious for your own good. It certainly can't be healthy for you."  
  
Snape let out a howl of frustration. It was perfectly clear that Dumbledore would tell him nothing of use until he was ready. Severus could only hope that no surprises would lead to his own demise before then.  
  
"No, absolutely no lemon drops, Albus. I know those sweets are somehow involved in your little plot too!" Snape eyed the candy warily. If lemon drops were powerful enough to effect the Dark Lord, who knew what they could do to Hogwarts' resident snarky potions master. He knew that accusing sweets of harming anybody sounded quite a bit less than sane, but he was certain that the lemon drops were integral to the headmaster's plan. Therefore, he blamed the candies, as well as his elderly superior, for the slip-up that by all accounts should have ended his life.  
  
"I'm quite sure that I have no idea what you mean, Severus, "said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs with his twinkling gaze directed at the ceiling.  
  
"I can see that you're not going to tell me anything, but I vow to figure out what your latest plan is!" Severus bellowed to the headmaster. Dumbledore just smiled at the belligerent man, and continued to twiddle his thumbs contentedly.  
  
Snape could do nothing but make an exasperated noise, turn on his heel, and stalk out of the headmaster's office with his black robes billowing ominously behind him.  
  
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One pale, long-fingered hand eased into the brown paper bag. Lord Voldemort's fingertips felt around, searching for a morsel of the sugary sweet that his very being ached for.  
  
He felt nothing. A sudden panic seized the Dark Lord, and he ripped the sides of the paper bag open in desperation. He needed to find a lemon drop, just one more lemon drop!  
  
They were gone. Lord Voldemort had eaten an entire one-pound bag of lemon drops in less than twenty-four hours.  
  
He spotted a few sparkling granules on the bottom of the bag. He poured the crumbs onto the palm of his hand and hungrily devoured those sweet leftover dregs. Still unsatisfied, the Dark Lord brought the mutilated muggle paper bag to his mouth and licked it clean, ensuring that no particle of sugar or lemon flavoring lingered on the packaging surface.  
  
He needed more! Lord Voldemort knew that he would never be able to function without the sweets. He relied on them to make it through the day. The sour-sweet flavor loosened his tightly wound nerves, relaxed his mind, and relieved the headaches he seemed to get every few hours. Without his lemon drops, the Dark Lord Voldemort would be no more than a sobbing pile of robes on the inlayed parquet floor!  
  
That need acknowledged, the Dark Lord began to ready himself for another journey. This would be his second friendly excursion into the muggle world since he was eleven years old.  
  
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Severus Snape sat in the nearly deserted Hogwarts library amongst a mountain of tomes and scholarly journals. He impatiently flipped through one of the large, dusty, leather-bound volumes, obviously searching for something important.  
  
To the casual observer, Snape's behavior would not seem particularly strange. However, the books he was avidly perusing were not his usual potions manuals. They were history books, and most of them had been pulled directly from the shelves of the restricted section.  
  
Severus was completely fed up with Dumbledore's mysteriousness. He knew that the headmaster would continue to feign ignorance and innocence until his plot was carried out and finished, so the Death Eater-turned-teacher had decided to try another route, hoping it would lead to the answers he sought.  
  
Knowing that Dumbledore had defeated dark wizards before, Snape figured that it couldn't hurt to read the accounts of Grindlewald's vanquishing. So here he sat, a biographical anthology of the twentieth century's most dangerous dark wizards open on the desk in front of him.  
  
He skipped the sections about Grindlewald's formative years; he had no time for a sociological study of the long-dead wizard. He quickly skimmed the descriptions of the dark wizard's rise to power, and his aspirations for when he obtained that power. Finally, he found what he sought: a photograph of a much younger Albus Dumbledore, smiling that same mysterious smile, with his blue eyes twinkling.  
  
Without much hope of finding any similarities between the situation he was living and the one he was researching, Severus began to read the section about Grindlewald's defeat. He already knew most of what was written. In 1945, at the height of the dark wizard's reign of terror, an eccentric Hogwarts transfiguration professor named Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had vanquished Grindlewald. Albus had become an immediate celebrity and hero, as the wizarding world celebrated the end of the war, just as the muggles had similarly rejoiced at the end of theirs.  
  
Severus was surprised to see that the particular book he was reading did not end with the wizarding world's euphoria at the end of the dark era. There was one extra paragraph, and its contents made Snape gasp aloud.  
  
All that was found when Albus Dumbledore finished with Grindlewald was the dark wizard's big toe and one solitary lemon drop. 


End file.
